


That Little Spark

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Cum Inflation, Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, Size Difference, small dom/large sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this a long time ago and found it so I might as well post it I guess?<br/>--<br/>One iteration of the Grand Highblood of the Alternian Empire is currently bathing in preparation of being sexually subjuggalated by a lowblood not even a tenth his age.</p><p>You can’t believe you’re that Highblood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Little Spark

One iteration of the Grand Highblood of the Alternian Empire is currently bathing in preparation of being sexually subjuggalated by a lowblood not even a tenth his age. A lowblood who would have been a fine battery, had he not ‘blown his fuse’ saving his friends. A lowblood that, when they aren’t playing in one of their scenes, calls the Highblood “big G” and laughs like a lawn mower stalling.

You can’t believe you’re that Highblood.

Mituna is lucky to have you, you assure yourself. You’re entitled to have your own little kinks (the word ‘little’ makes you chuckle in this context), and as long as he’s okay with it, who cares? You’re both dead, anyway. Why beat yourself up over the fact that you get off on having a small (to you), hyper lowblood tell you what you can and can’t do?

Maybe the wording on that wasn’t quite right.

Either way, though, you’re excited. Mituna is a good match for you; even better than good, really. He’s just the right size to make you want to protect him, just the right spark (you laugh again at the wording, you’re fucking hilarious) to make you want to tuck him away and protect him. Honestly, you should have seen this coming, with how infatuated you were with that first battery you met on )(er ship.

You suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference, though. For now, you’re just dead and happy to have the freedom to just, be around him. He’s fierce, small and hyper and strong and you want to kiss him everywhere because he’s got the angles of adulthood in his face and shoulders but the kind of childish glee that makes it easy to get lost in him. His scent is spicy, he’s warm, he doesn’t take your shit, and he’s perfect.

With that thought in mind, you dry yourself, leave your face plain, and walk into your block. He’s sitting on the platform, already naked and you can see his nook with how he’s sitting, but he doesn’t look at you, just keeps playing on that little handheld thing. He tried to teach you once, but you’re worse at games than he is. The music pauses and he looks up, smirks, and shifts his seating a little, spreading his legs wider.

“P-put your hands on the floor.” He murmurs, then, a little more certain. “Kneel, on the floor. Watch me.”

Your knees hit the floor as soon as he’s done speaking, your eyes glued to him. You find yourself making a tiny prayer to the Messiahs that he’ll let you touch him, because, god, you really want to. He’s so impatient, he always is, and he only spends a few moments in playing with himself. His claws tickle over his chest, down to his abdomen (he squirms even under his own fingers, and you imagine yourself biting him and him coming hard again, until your bulge tries to writhe free too early) and then he just jams three fingers into his nook with a grunt.

He grumbles and moves his hand, and you want to touch him, you want to pull his legs apart and make him scream and come in one of those perfect multiples of two and you want himnot to be muttering uncomfortably while he tries to get himself wet enough to finger himself. Your thighs shiver a little when he makes an airy kind-of moan, and then he’s getting wet and you lick your lips and he sees, a little drip of ocher starting from his nook. He smells so motherfucking good from here, and your hand moves to grind a palm into your sheathe while you watch.

Mituna’s noises are always faltering, stuttering things that you can feel more than hear, at least when you’re touching him. He likes being watched, though, but when he sees what you’re doing he snarls.

“Don’t! Not yet. Stop that.” His voice jumps with the movements of his hand. “I t-told you, hands on the floor.”

You pull your hand away and watch him, licking your lips and swallowing around the cotton in your mouth. He’s dripping onto the platform, his ears flushed and mouth open. His thumb presses, too hard, against the spot where his bulge meets his nook, if he were out yet, and he makes a groan, eyes landing on you again. Your claws flex on the floor.

He chews his bottom lip for a second, and you want to kiss him, you see just a hint of that yellowish tongue and it makes your insides lash; or it might be your bulge working itself into your nook. He grins, sliding his fingers out of himself and using the slick on them to rub at his sheathe, only enough to tease, before pressing them back into himself. Your face is so flushed, you can feel it, and you wish you had your paint on but he told you that if you did he’d keep you well away from his nook.

“Nn, l-look at you, fff, fucking yourself, just fr, ffffrom watching me.” He manages, grinding the heel of his palm into that spot that makes him keen. “D’you want my n-nook? Wannafuck me?”

You’re over shame when you moan at him, eyes locked on his nook and ears tilting down. You’re leaning forward, breathing through your mouth to taste those pheromones lowbloods are so good at pouring everywhere, you want to pull yourself forward just a little and bury your face in his nook until he’s twitching and boneless all over. He spreads his nook open and you shudder, your bulge lashing again at that.

It’s pointless, but you try to make yourself sound less desperate. “Yeah. Really want your nook, brother. Really. Can a motherfucker get to kiss at his flush?” You scoot forward, biting your bottom lip.

"Mnn..” He sighs, lifting his hips, and you see the muscles in his thighs stand out, and his nook flutter and his bulge just barely twitching out. “Bet you’re, th-thinking about how it tastes? Or how ho-hot my nook is. Wanna, fuck, wanna taste it?”

Your bulge curls up against your seedflap and you lose yourself for a second, curling in on yourself and moaning, your body shaking. He growls and you make yourself look up, your thighs pressing tight together.

“Don’t. You, you’re not allowed.” He beckons you closer with his free hand and you move forward as quickly as you can, frowning when he pushes your chest with his foot. “You can’t. I have to c, come first.”

You whimper, fucking whimper, and squeeze your thighs together so tight it hurts. “Please. Fuckin, lemme get at you, get my mouth all at your nook like you like.” The flush you can’t hide is on your shoulders now, burning under your skin, and your bulge is twisting in your nook and it’s downright shameful how close you feel when he hasn’t even touched you. “L-least lemme get my bulge outta me, please.”

“Hnn, you can, c’mere. You can eat me out.” He purrs, watching you, and then nods, sliding his fingers out of his nook. “D-don’t come.”

Crawling foward, you lick your lips, leaning in until you can’t smell anything but him, and then yor tongue laves over his nook, up to that sensitive spot that makes him groan. He hooks his knees over your shoulders and you let him pull you in to press your mouth right up against his nook, your tongue pressing into him and against his globes. He rocks his hips against your mouth and makes all sorts of precious, airy little sounds.

He falls back after a moment, purring out little moans and squirming on the platform, his hands gripping the sheet. Since he can’t see, you wrap your hand around the base of your bulge and squeeze, hard enough that you groan in pain, to keep from coming. He, though, sits straight up and pulls you away to look you over, looking absolutely terrified before noticing your hand and relaxing a little.

You purr when he kisses you, softly. “D-don’t hurt yourself.” He coos, petting your hair back from your face, and you want to snap at him for being almost pale right now, but don’t. “We’re just playing.”

Nodding, you kiss his palm. “Motherfucker’s just followin orders. Ain’t boutta snap nothin off, don’t worry.”

The two of you take a moment to just kind of reposition yourselves (you manage to convince him that you could almost definitely come just from watching him and that you really don’t even need to touch yourself, so he lets you pull your bulge from your nook), and he chitters when your tongue laves over his sheathe.

Your hands plant themselves on the floor and you push yourself forward, flicking your tongue inside his nook and teasing his globes with the tip. He mewls, twitching this way and that, and you’re tempted to hold his hips down. Mituna, surprisingly, is very quiet when he comes, just breathing out this long huff of air before gasping and trying to catch his breath. His foot presses against your shoulder and you purr, keeping your movements up all through it.

He’s mumbling your name, kind of, this garbled translation of it, and you let yourself grab his hips and press your mouth against him, sucking at the flesh and making him sob, his hands in your hair. He tastes good, and you really want to tell him, but he’s holding you there, gasping and shaking like he’s falling all apart on the platform, and he snarls when he comes again, his claws in your hornbeds and his body curling over you. You pull away when he pushes, licking your lips and chin clean of the ocher that’s poured down them.

Mituna is still choking for air, but he sits up and looks you over, his eyes staying at the sight of your bulge wrapped around your thigh. “H-how d’you like it? D’ya wanna fuck me, still?”

“Yes.” You bark, flushing all across your face. “Fuck, please, motherfucker your nook is so good. Please.” You’re not used to begging, normally, but you find that you don’t particularly care, since he’s got this sweet little grin on his lips.

You nearly leap to your feet when he waves you over, falling back on the platform and just about becoming one with it. Your bulge only needs a little coaxing to unwrap from your currently uninteresting walkstalk and poke around at his nook. He coos, reaching down and spreading himself open, his bottom lip caught in his teeth and a huffed laugh pushing through them when you groan at the sight. You, thankfully, have a fair amount of control over your bulge, and really only hold it to get a little more friction, because you’re not going to push into him any faster than he demands you to.

Which is, slowly. He likes the stretch, you’ve learned, and the way your bulge curls against everything in him. Once or twice while you’ve pailed without any scene to follow, he’d told you exactly what it felt like, at your urging. He’s beautiful spread for you, flushed and panting and doing this arch with his shoulders that opens up all his soft spots and makes something in you surge with a need to protect him. His own hand slides down his side to pinch his grubscars and you lean forward to kiss him, only to be pushed back with his other hand.

“Tell me.” He murmurs, halfway through another arch that pulls you in a few more inches and makes you lose track of your mind for a second. “T-tell me, how’s it feels?”

You’re breathing fast and hard through your nose, tasting the smell of sex in the back of your throat, and your voice is less words and more a moan when you manage to speak. “So good. Fuckin, love your nook, brother. G-goddamn, hot.” You finish, shaking when your hips press to his ass and your bulge writhes the rest of the way into him.

He gives you a vague order to move, his hips already trying to grind, and yips at your first, slightly overeager thrust. You force yourself into a rhythm and he melts into little moans, gasps and mewls, rolling around in his chest, and he grips your wrists. You’re already so close, so close that it fucking hurts but you hold off, watching him shake and feeling yourself start to sweat and moaning to where you accidentally drown him out when he comes.

One of his hands abandons your wrist and goes to his sheathe, pulling his forked bulge out almost roughly once the first inch is out. You try to match his pace, but the combination of trying to hold off your own orgasm and how erratic his movements are makes it next to impossible, your hips bumping his out of rhythm and sloppy, but he’s just rocking back to you, his thumb slipping into the fork in his bulge to rub at it, and when you keen at the sight he purrs.

His nook is fluttering around you, trying to pull you over with him, so you whine at him, desperate. “Fuck, please, please motherfucker lemme come, please, I, ghh, it’s so good.” Your stomach still kind of flips over the things he doesn’t even have to ask you to say.

“Nnn, no, not yet, almost, almost there.” He sighs, shaking hard, and then he locks up as he comes, his back bowing and his bulge pouring gold over his abdomen and the upper part of your thighs.

Your hips are tight against him, grinding in fast little circles, and he’s still twitching, his hand slowing on his bulge as it deflates. You hardly realize that you’re kind of constantly mumbling a stream of “please please it’s fuckin good please I need to you’re so great so fucking great”, but he must appreciate it, because he gives you another little nod, and you pull back, then slam forward as you come.

He squawks as he’s filled, his hand fast on his nearly-deflated bulge, and you grind into him even after you’ve got nothing left to give, giving him that little bit of stimulation to help send him over again when his seedflap opens. This time when he comes, he’s loud, grabbing at you harshly and grinding on your deflating bulge.

He comes down and lets you go, his legs falling open when you move to sit heavily on the platform. After a few seconds of him tugging at you, you let him pull you down to curl around him, purring lightly. He kisses your nose, your eyebrow, and you catch his chin to kiss him properly.

“Yknow.” He murmurs, watching your chest rise and fall while you lay on the increasingly cold and not nearly as nice as your heated recupracoon platform. “That was only five.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have legitimately no idea what prompted this when I originally wrote it tbh  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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